


I'm the Fella You Came in With

by LateStarter58



Series: Scenes with Martha and Tom [8]
Category: Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Guys and Dolls, Jealousy, Musicals, Theatre, home birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Martha is preparing for a new role and working hard. Tom is at home holding the fort. All is well, but then he sees something that sends his mind spinning into overdrive...





	I'm the Fella You Came in With

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place, like all my Tom & Martha stories, in a slightly parallel universe. In this case, the Broadway run of Betrayal is not happening, so Tom is at home in London until after Christmas...

_“O! Beware, my lord, of jealousy;_

_It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock_

_The meat it feeds on.”_

** _Othello, William Shakespeare_ **

Afterwards, Tom could identify the exact moment he started to go insane. It was bound to happen. There was too much going on, all at once: his family, his work, fear of loss, of failure. Why he thought what he did, did what he did… maybe he’d never quite know. Not with the forensic accuracy he thought would give him comfort this would not happen again.

He had just walked into the room, one of those dull, utilitarian spaces that are used for theatrical and dance rehearsals by everyone in London. It was a perfectly pleasant mid-morning on a Wednesday in July. He was a little tired but excited for Martha, knowing she was off-book already, although still nervous about the singing and anxious about the dance numbers. He had - momentarily, so he thought - been disappointed he couldn’t be involved too but was really looking forward to seeing how she was finding it today. He was going to watch for a short while, then take her out for lunch at one of their favourite Soho eateries; the first meal out the two of them had had alone together in a while. And then he heard it.

Her laugh. 

But it was not just any old Martha laugh. Not her polite chuckle, the one for bad jokes or to dismiss embarrassing compliments. Not the stage laugh, either. Not even the belly-laugh at a good dirty joke. No, because none of those would have bothered him in the slightest. What crossed the wooden floor of that mostly empty space was that intriguing, inviting sexy giggle he had believed was reserved exclusively for him.

Feeling his stomach tighten, he scanned the room and then he saw them, standing in the corner, heads close together in intimate conversation. A thousand conflicting thoughts rushed around in his mind at once. Frowning, he almost shook his head. 

_Is that Martha? No. Yes. It is Martha, but no … what’s happening? _

He saw the way her eyes were flicking up and looking into his, then down again; the teasing half-smile on her lips; that gorgeous rosy tint on her cheek…

He thought he had walked towards them, but then he noticed he was still standing in the exact same place, unable to move. 

___________________________________________________

** _Seven weeks earlier_ **

“Oh fucking… oh god… I can see his head, Mar!” 

“Great.” Martha gritted her teeth around the _Entonox_tube as Hilary reminded her to pant again. _Whose stupid idea was this? Oh yeah. Mine…_

They were, all five of them, in the spare room downstairs, covers on the floor and the bed discreetly hiding the plastic protective sheeting. Martha was squatting, supported by the special ‘delivery chair’, with the reassuring presence of the midwife poking around at the business end, now joined by the overexcited father, her own mother quietly steady beside her and Joseph James Hiddleston-East about to make his big entrance. After a lot of conversations with Tom about the subject, she had discussed a home birth with Hilary at their first meeting, all those months ago. It sounded ideal for them. Her labour and delivery with Audrey were uncomplicated, she was young enough - just - and pretty fit. They had both believed it would be much less disruptive for Aude, who had enough time apart from her parents as it was. And so far, it had all had gone swimmingly, if rather messily.

Tom looked up at her, grinning. “He’s a ginge, Mar.”

“Thomas, who cares? I AM DYING, oh, bloody hell I hate this part!”

“Um, that might just be blood, Tom.” Hilary’s quiet voice butted in.

“Oh.”

“But,” she added, taking another glance, “it does look as if he might be auburn, I agree.” 

“People, PLEASE!”

Hillary giggled and leaned back on her heels. “OK, Martha, all clear. Push away with the next contraction.”

And then, just minutes later there he was, all 4.4 kilogrammes of him, blood- and mucus-smeared, red-faced, fists clenched, eyes staring up at her from her belly. “Hello, you.” Martha looked at Tom. His eyes were fixed on his son, then they flicked to her as he leaned over and kissed her. He settled in at her side, arm around her shoulders.

“He’s perfect.”

“He’s a ginge, alright.” 

“You OK, love?”

“Yeah. Will be, anyway.”

A short while later Tom’s mother brought Audrey in to meet her little brother, Jake trotting in at Diana’s heel to take a look too. Her parents made sure Joseph was all set in his little crib with a gift for his big sister, and that they were free to give her a big cuddle. Naturally, in her typical toddler way, Audrey was more excited about her new wood-and-velcro pizza-making set than her over-emotional parents or the funny-looking squawking creature in the Moses basket. She quickly settled down and began taking food orders from all the adults in the room. The dog was slightly more interested, taking a quick sniff at the infant then curling up in the corner with a theatrically loud sigh that suggested resignation to more tail-pulling and ear-poking in his future.

“OK folks,” Hilary was addressing the grandmothers and Tom a while later, “I just need to do a few final checks and then I think Martha should get some rest. And it looks as if little Joseph is out for the count, too.”

Barbara East stood up. “Right, well, come on, Diana, we’ll sort Audrey out with some dinner and a bath, shall we? And everyone else with some grub, too…?”

Tom roused himself from the bed and with another kiss each for Martha and the tiny one, he scooped up Audrey and they left the women to do whatever mysterious things needed doing.

Once they were alone, Martha asked the question all mothers want answered after natural childbirth: “Is everything alright down there?”

“Yes, it’s fine. One tiny internal tear but I’ve already stitched that.”

“Oh good. Thanks.”

The midwife grinned. “No worries, Martha, you can continue to have plenty of fun in the very near future.” 

“Oh yes, that too! Very important. I was also asking because I start rehearsals for a musical in just over five weeks.”

“Oh… well, that’s ambitious…”

Martha sighed, stretching and wincing. “I know, but it was too good an opportunity to turn down. I think I can do it, it’s just for a short run. Only eight weeks.”

“Well, you know your own body, and you’ve been here before. As long as you watch your diet and keep up your fluid intake.” She paused. “And take it slowly at first. No running off to the gym next week.”

Martha snorted. “Don’t worry!” She smiled at Hilary tenderly. “Thank you. You took care of all of us and kept Joe safe.”

“You’re more than welcome. You’ve got your beautiful family now and I was very pleased to play a tiny part in that. Oh, hey, it’s OK…” She reached over to comfort Martha, who had begun to cry.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just so …”

“Exhausted. So, sleep! I’ll call Tom later to check on you, and I’ll be back in the morning. G’night, Martha.”

“Night.”

_______________________________________

He was still by the door, watching. He saw everything he needed to know: Martha was standing close to a handsome man, whose face was tilted down towards hers, his eyes heavily-lidded, his lips pursed as he spoke, his arms waving in extravagant gestures. She nodded, she smiled, then she laughed again. She was engaged in the conversation, she was confident, she was focused, she was enjoying the exchange. 

Then she spotted him. “Tom! You’re early…” 

As if following a directors’ cue, he nodded, raising his hand in greeting to Angel, the choreographer, who smiled back warmly. “Yeah, my errands took less time than I expected, so I thought I’d come straight here, see how it’s going.” He flashed his habitual smile again, and only Martha saw how it failed to reach his eyes. 

“Everything alright, love?”

“Of course! What could possibly be wrong? It’s beautiful outside. OK if I just sit over here and watch?” He pointed nervously to the benches by the wall and Angel smiled, nodding, but Martha shrugged. 

From his vantage point, Tom scrutinised every movement, every glance and gesture between Martha and Angel. It all seemed professional enough, now. Now he was here and they knew he was watching. His stomach was a mass of churning acid. He thought of the children, back home. His heart lurched in his chest, he beat it back down, he fought with a surge of anger at himself. What was happening, if anything at all? Was it all in his imagination? Still, despite these doubts, he watched, he saw everything. Her hand on Angel’s arm, the way she squeezed. He gritted his teeth, he started to sweat and felt dizzy. 

“Tom! Are you listening? I said I’ll just have a quick shower and change, then we can go. OK?” Martha leaned down and kissed his forehead, her lips lingering on the hairline as so often. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, sorry, OK.” He watched her leave, rubbing her back and adjusting her bra strap. He knew she was finding the physical side of the preparation a challenge. She would get home completely exhausted, which was why they were having lunch out, rather than dinner.

“She is amazing.”

“What?” Angel’s voice had cut into his thoughts and his words infuriated Tom.

“Marta. She is incredible, she works so hard. And she is so funny.” Somehow, the accent made him more annoying. He was attractive, and he spoke English so well, with just the right amount of lisp. 

“Yes, she is. Has she been giving you a hard time?” _I hope not, she only insults people she likes a lot. Or really hates._

“Well, no’ really.”

_Ha! _

“If you’ll excuse me, I should get changed too. Nice to see you again, Tom.” The hand was shaken, and only halfway through his automatically polite response did Tom stiffen and want to withdraw, but he didn’t. 

______________________________

** _Two weeks earlier_ **

“You OK, Martha?”

“Yeah… I’m just… well, you know, it’s the dancing.”

“You’ve done that before, though?” The first dance rehearsal was about to get underway and Rufus Norris was pouring himself a coffee, looking sideways at her rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“Not like this. A bit of rustic cavorting about in Shakespeare comedies, some gavottes in period things, make-it-up-as-you-go-along stuff in one of my plays, but nothing like a proper number.” 

Martha wouldn’t have considered trying to be in a production of any kind so soon after giving birth, let alone her first stage musical, except it was _Guys and Dolls, _her absolute favourite, and Rufus had asked her. At the time, she was only five and a half months into her pregnancy, feeling fabulous and despite being busy with a challenging writing project, ever-so-slightly envious of Tom going off to the West End every night. She loved the stage and always rather missed it when she wasn’t doing theatre. So of course she said yes to the chance to play _Miss Adelaide_at the National. The ideal scenario would have been for Tom to join her in the cast as perhaps _Sky_or _Nathan_. Martha really pushed for it but Norris, an old friend and trusted colleague had been honest with her from the beginning: he would consider Tom, but he had already started conversations with other actors. Tom would have loved it, too, if it could have worked out. Her involvement was a significant departure from their ‘Hiddleston-East Family Life 18-Month Master Plan’ but she was itching for it. She could have said no, but she did not want to. 

At least Tom would be at home with the kids, that need not change now, and it was only going to be a short run. 

Nevertheless, this soon after having Joe, playing a cabaret artiste was a daunting prospect. She pulled a face somewhere between a smile and Edvard Munch’s famous masterpiece, which almost made Rufus spit out his mouthful. Instead, he swallowed and put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Talk to Angel, our choreographer. He’s really good, and very patient. He’s used to working with non-dancers, if you get my drift…”

Martha’s gaze followed Rufus’s and she saw a slim man chatting and laughing with some of the other cast-members. He was attired in black from head to foot: balding with his remaining dark brown hair cut very short, a neatly-trimmed beard and large brown eyes, black tee and jeans, trainers to match. He was possibly the most Spanish-looking person Martha had ever seen in her life. “Oh, OK. Introduce me, then.”

It was only around four when Martha got home. 

“Cuppa, love?”

“God, yes,” she said as she flopped down on the sofa, Jake’s nose firmly pressed to her knee. “Both asleep?”

Tom raised his eyes heavenwards in gratitude. “Yes, for now. Audrey’s been a bit of a devil today. She woke Joe up three times, I’m convinced she went in to touch or even squeeze his feet at least twice.”

“Little minx.” 

“Reminds me of nobody.”

“Watch it, Thomas...” She looked across the room, contemplating the weeks and months ahead. “She’ll adjust.”

“Well, at least he’s easy to soothe, bless him. He went right off again with a cuddle. One of our children takes after me: he’s a professional nap taker.”

She sighed, feeling the familiar tingle in her nipples. “I missed him. I missed them both.”

“Liar, you’ve had a great time.”

She grinned. “Yeah, but I did miss them. Missed you too.”

“I am certain.” He leaned in for a kiss. “So, tell me, how was it?”

“Make me that tea and I’ll give you the full story.”

“I’ve got some lemon drizzle out of the freezer, too…?”

“Oh, you wonderful man! I might even have your babies one day.”

“You’re hilarious. Wait there, and try not to fall asleep because I’m not carrying you upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

________________________________________

The restaurant was busy but small enough not to feel oppressive. They had made a habit of eating there during his run at the Pinter as it was handy for after-show meals and the waiting staff knew them well, showing them to a table in the cosy basement. Martha reached for the menu, perusing it greedily. Breastfeeding always made her starving. Having quickly chosen, she put the card aside and fixed Tom with a basilisk stare.

“Right, Eton, are you going to tell me what’s eating you?”

Tom continued to stare at his own menu. He shook his head slightly. “Nothing. Just, you know, tired.” He twisted his mouth and Martha reached across the table to squeeze his hand. He looked down at her fingers. He thought about how she had been touching Angel with them, just a short time earlier.

Martha could see Tom was not his usual self, but as he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, or indeed anything else, and lacking the spare energy for a tussle at that moment, she decided to fill the void herself. “So, Matt’s coming in this afternoon, so we can have a crack at our joint numbers. Colin’s going to be there too, so we can tackle some singing too.” She pulled a face as Tom looked up in the silence she left. His blank expression didn’t change.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Probably. Look, Tom, are you sure there isn’t something-”

“Of course not, I’m fine. Let’s order.” He looked around and caught the eye of a nearby waiter.

On a whim, Tom got off the train a stop earlier than usual, and eschewing the lift, climbed the endlessly spiralling, narrow stairs, hoping the repetitive exercise and mind-numbing surroundings would ease his distress. He reached the ticket hall breathless but no less anxious. As he strode up the hill towards home, he went over the image of Martha and Angel in his mind, relentlessly worrying at it, hearing the sound of her voice, trying to remember if there had been any signs before today that something had changed; he found none. It seemed wrong, he knew rationally it had to be wrong, and yet her face, her body language, that laugh… 

Then he was home, Audrey was clinging to his legs, her face smeared with something - _chocolate, I hope - _and Siobahn emerged from the kitchen with the baby in her arms.

“Oh, good, you’re back. Sorry about her, she insisted on a biscuit. I’ve just fed him, he’s been changed, so he should sleep now. Look, bless, he’s practically gone already... I can wash madam and put her down too, if-”

“No, thanks, that’s fine, Shiv, I’ll see to Audrey. If you don’t mind just putting Joe down then you can get off home.” He was keen to be alone with his thoughts again. Twenty minutes of toddler-wrangling and a story later, he felt more tranquil. Having to focus on his daughter had taken him out of his mad thinking, but once he was able to creep out of her room and pad down the corridor, the sight of them across the dance studio returned to him. He went to the kitchen, put on the kettle but never quite got around to making the tea.

The afternoon passed much faster for Martha. Her _Nathan Detroit_, Matt Ford, was fun to work with, supportive and professional, and they both felt happy by the time they were leaving the rehearsal studio that all was on course, as did the musical director. Rufus had popped in to check on progress and was given a universal thumbs-up. As she walked towards the tube station Martha reflected that things on the homefront might not be the same. Something was clearly wrong in the Thomas department at lunchtime and him being uncharacteristically taciturn was just one red flag. As she sat on the train she tried to puzzle it out. It was strange, because everything had seemed great that morning, or at least, by recent standards, normal. 

Was it something that had gone on after she left the house, perhaps? But why wouldn’t he have told her about it? She thought about what had happened, his arrival. He seemed to have been in a mood already. Was he fed up with being at home? She knew that feeling well enough, but... He was being so… weird. So grumpy. It wasn’t fair of him, she was knackered enough without having to deal with one of his - admittedly rare - tantrums. Lord knows, she’d shielded him from her frustrations plenty of times when Audrey was a baby… _Fuck, Tom, stop being so bloody selfish, I managed, now it’s your turn. _ By the time she was walking down the hill to their front gate she was quite irritated. She checked her phone again for an apology, for any sign of him, but there was no message, from Tom, or from anyone. So, shouldering her bag one last time, she tapped in the code and slipped inside.

She put her stuff down just inside the living room and looked around. All was quiet. “Tom? Where are you?”

A baritone voice came from the corner. “SHHHHHHH, they’re both asleep.”

“Oh, good… right, well, I need to express some milk then, because my boobs are fit to burst.”

His voice was flat and emotionless. “OK.”

“Right, that’s enough, what the fuck is it?” She walked over to where he was sitting, apparently reading, but not having turned the page or actually absorbed a single word in two hours.

He raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a neutral way. “What is what?”

She tried not to grind her teeth. “Something’s upset you, man. I’m tired, I’m busy and I’m uncomfortable but I’m not stupid. Spit it out, for fuck’s sake.”

Slowly and deliberately, Tom put his book down on the table beside him and looked up into her face. “I’m fine.”

Swallowing the rage that wanted to burst out, Martha shook her head. She was so tired she wanted to cry. “Obviously not true, but you know what, I’m shattered, I’m about to spurt breastmilk all the way up to Hampstead and I don’t have time to play games. I’m going up to express. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

An hour later, she had emptied both boobs and showered. By then Audrey was awake and playing with Tom in the living room so Martha began to make a light supper for them both, not asking him what he wanted as she was still fairly furious and didn’t trust herself. However, she kept up an air of normality for Audrey’s sake, and they went through their regular evening routine of dinner, bath and bedtime for both children.

Once the children were settled, they sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table. Instead of starting to eat, Martha folded her hands in her lap and looked at Tom expectantly. He shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Oh, come on, Tom!” He shook his head. “What?! What the fuck is it? Please, just tell me, I told you I don’t have the energy for games.”

Tom sighed and looked at her sadly. “You seemed very energetic today at rehearsals.”

“What the fu-”

“Do I still make you happy, Martha?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Does this life make you happy?” He asked, his eyes flashing momentarily, quite irritated. “This life, the house, the kids.” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Do you regret any decisions Mar?” That last part came out only slightly louder than a whisper. 

“Tom...Wha...why are you asking me that now? What’s happened?” 

“Martha, you’re right, you are not stupid and neither am I. You are tired, so am I.” 

She pushed her plate to one side and reached for his hands. He pulled them away, out of reach. “Tom? Stop it, please!”

“I can’t, Martha. I need to ask you something. What is going on with the choreographer?” Martha froze. “Does he make you happy in a different way? Are you having feelings…?”

“Tom, what on earth do you mean?”

His face became stiff. “I saw you.”

“What? When? Doing what?”

“I heard you. This morning.”

“What are you talking about, Thomas? I don’t understand. I like Angel, I told you before, he’s nice, he says nice things. He flirts. He flirts with everyone, I mean EVERYONE. I think he’s bi, or at least, I think it suits him to appear to be bi.” 

“Martha, I don’t give a fuck about him being bi, gay, straight or whatever. I know you and I saw you. You were looking at him. You laughed.”

“Oh god, _shoot me_.”

His eyes dropped. “Martha, you were different, younger, girlish. You were flirting with him. You laughed my laugh with him.” 

She paused her mind to steady herself before she began to talk, because she thought she saw now. That morning she had woken up after three hour’s sleep, exhausted, sweaty, sore and soaked in breastmilk. Somehow, with Tom’s and then Shiv’s assistance, she had made it to rehearsal on time. She’d felt awfully out of it. Out of shape, out of the loop, out of place. Once she was there, she tried to fit in and fought the desire to run away. Everyone was nice and welcoming, but Angel made an extra effort. He approached her calmly, with admiration. He was patient, kind; he seemed genuine. He had flattered and cajoled her, buoyed her up, made her feel not just like a competent actor again, but like a desirable woman. She looked into Tom’s serious face.

“You know I felt like crap this morning, love. Well, Angel seemed to know, too. The minute I walked in he turned the wick up on that charm of his and it was just what I needed…” She tipped her head. “Yes, I suppose I flirted back, just a bit. I felt like a woman again, that’s all. You saw us talking together, when you arrived?” Tom nodded sadly. She took his hands in hers and rubbed her thumbs over the backs. “Tell me, do you still love me, Thomas William?”

“Martha, please.”

“Tell me.”

“Of course I love you. How is this now about me loving you?”

“Because, Tom, I don’t understand how what you saw could be about me loving you, either. This is not about us loving each other, you must know that. ”

“What do you mean?” He stared at her, his frown deepening.

“This is more about us, about what’s happening to me and you right now… Work, I mean. Working and not working.”

He shrugged, his mouth a tight line. “Martha, flirting is not work...”

“Tom, do I, Martha East, have you tell you, THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON about flirting? Seriously? You flirt with the fucking microphone.”

“This was different, Mar.”

“How so?”

“I saw you! I saw a woman, a girl, I have not seen in a while! You looked happy, Martha.”

“Thomas, I am happy.”

“Martha, you know what I mean!”

Martha fell back on her chair. She became silent. She knew and she understood.

“Thomas, I am happy and I was happy. You saw me enjoying myself, as an actor and yes, as a woman. You recognised it, as you have experienced those same feelings before, many times.” Tom remained silent. She was still holding on to one hand but took a sip of her water, leaning back in her chair. “Same way I see you now and I recognise your feelings. You forget, Tom, I’ve been there, I know how frustrating it is to be the one witnessing the other fly high, while being, or feeling, stuck at home, wanting to do stuff but not able to.”

“I know that. I’m not saying it’s not... “ He could feel that swirling sensation, that loss of gravity, that feeling of not knowing where he was tethered creeping back into his gut. He was beginning to see - perhaps - where it was coming from. “We had an agreement.” His face was grim.

“We did. I seem to remember we had one a couple or three years ago, too, when Audrey was just a bump. That you would not be abroad for long periods anymore, and yet after Christmas...”

Tom frowned again and stood up, walking to the fridge to get a beer. “I discussed it with you first. We both agreed this project was worth it.”

She leaned forward and opened her hand on the table. “And we discussed this. We agreed on this. This is how it goes, right? Things come up, that’s the nature of our business. You can’t make long-term plans, we should both know that by now!” She could feel her irritation rising again, and she wanted to have a calm conversation, so she took a couple of deep breaths and watched him sit back down opposite her and push his salad around the plate. “You remember that time, not that long ago, when I was struggling to work out who I was? When I was preparing the _As You Like It_?” He nodded, smiling slightly. “Well, it looks to me as if you’re going through a similar thing.”

“Hardly…”

“Hear me out. When we decided on taking the rest of this year off together, what did you imagine it would be like?”

“I don’t know, really. I suppose I thought it would be lovely to spend time getting to know Joe and doing normal family things.” He allowed his former reveries of watching _The Jungle Book,_hillside picnics and family treks up Scottish glens to pass across his mind’s eye. “I had plans, yes.” He looked at her. “They included you, of course.”

Martha narrowed her eyes and chewed her lip. She knew this was at the heart of it.

“But instead I’m off out at work and you’re here, rather bored, like you were before, only more tired, and wondering if YOU made the right decisions…?” 

He looked steadily into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “A bit, yeah.”

A plaintive wail came from the nursery, cutting into the tense atmosphere, making them both sigh. “Our master calls…” Martha got to her feet. 

And so, as often happens in family life, the lively exchange of views was paused once again while parental duties were carried out. Martha was soon installed in the high-backed rocker, feeding Joe, Tom covered their food up and popped it back in the fridge for later, and Jake watched from his bed in the corner, as he had been all evening, in the increasingly faint hope that he might get a late run on the Heath. 

Joseph had cut his earlier feed short and once topped up, he was soon snoozing again. His mother laid him down gently after a few minutes cuddling, just to make up for her day-long absence. Martha had worried about him, before he was born. Could she love another child as much as Audrey? Was that even possible? Would she bond with a boy as easily as with a girl? All her fears and doubts had been groundless; Joseph James Hiddleston-East was as beautiful and as calm as his father, and blessed with her eyes and colouring. Everyone hoped he might prove similarly a blend of other of their better qualities as he grew. What she already knew was that she was as deeply in love as she had been with her first-born. 

Martha returned to the kitchen where Tom was waiting to continue their discussion. “So, remind me, Eton. As I recall, we had established that you thought a bit of flirting was proof positive I was having it off with the dance teacher, is that right?”

“That’s enough, Mar. I know I’ve been…”

“Stupid?”

“Hasty…”

She sat down, glaring, took a swig of wine and briefly picked up her fork, even though she felt no desire for food. 

Tom cleared his throat. He hated having to admit to her that she was right, because, to misquote Churchill about Montgomery, if in defeat Martha was indomitable, in victory she was insufferable... “Look, you’re probably right about this having something to do with me feeling a bit… pissed off about me being here and you being... there.” Martha said nothing, simply smiled to herself and nodded quickly, encouraging him to elaborate. “I love being here with the kids, I loved it before with just Aude, you know that, and it’s truly a gift to see the little changes in Joe, day by day, hour by hour. Audrey, well, she’s a delight, a trial, all the things a toddler should be, naturally. It’s harder, yes, with two. It’s a bit repetitive, of course, by its very nature, like most domestic activity. And yes, I suppose it’s true that I may have had unrealistic expectations this time.” She grunted. “I’d say it’s more like when Audrey was really tiny, actually, and you were still trying to do everything on your own, remember?”

“Yes, don’t remind me. That was idiotic, in retrospect…”

“No, just, well, unrealistic, like my own vision of how these months were going to be. I never seem to get round to doing all those bits and bobs I had planned, not even the little things, let alone starting to think about that book.”

“Because you don’t have either the time nor the mental energy you thought you would when they’re asleep, right?” He nodded, smiling ruefully. “It might not have been that different, even if I hadn’t taken this job, you know. You have spent so much of your adult life working, as have I. We need a degree of stimulation… of stretch, I suppose you could call it, that being at home, great though it is, wonderful, joyous, fabulous though it is, just can’t match. It’s not a failing, darling, I know. I understand, I’m exactly the same. I know you’ve been feeling antsy: it’s been obvious, love.”

He grimaced, took a long draught on his beer, swallowed. “It feels like too long until January, and yet I am dreading it as well, because it means… you know.”

“Yes, I do know. But honestly, Tom, me and Angel? Really?” He shrugged again. He was still aware of that same unpleasant spinning sensation when he recalled the sight of them together. “Like I said at the time we first talked about the offer, you know how I feel about the theatre, and it’s been so long, too long for me. Not since the last National gig I had.” She looked hard at him, trying to make him remember what had happened during that run, when he had inadvertently said something in an interview which had hurt her terribly. It was harmless in itself, but it had struck at the heart of her particular insecurities.

He looked up, eyebrows raised, eyes a little swimmy. He remembered well enough. “Yeah, I get it.” He smiled sadly. “I’m sorry.”

_At last_

She stood up, walked to him, sat on his lap and pulled him into a tight hug. After a few minutes, she lifted his face away from her shoulder and kissed him, long, slow and soft. He returned it hungrily. Martha drew back and pressed his face between her hands in the manner he usually did hers. “Are you still hungry?” He shook his head. “Neither am I. Wanna go to bed?” 

Tom stood up, fast, pulling her to her feet, simultaneously lifting her face to his. Before they reached the doorway he pressed her against the wall, not roughly but not gently either. She smiled lopsidedly. 

“Ooh, Thomas… is this what happens when you get a bit… was it jealousy, Eton? Bit of the old green-eyed-”

“Stop talking, Martha. Kiss me and let’s fuck.”

“Now, now, where are your manners? So rude…”

He was hurt, confused by his own reaction, discomforted, embarrassed even, but also anxious, perhaps even desperate to show her he loved her. And there was no doubt she loved him. They had begun to have sex again only a week earlier; tiredness and frequent interruptions meant privacy, let alone intimacy was still not the easiest thing to achieve, but at that moment it felt imperative.

Martha ran one finger from Tom’s hairline down his cheek, skirting his face, drifting languidly and caressing his beard before moving down, onwards to his neck. He sighed and undulated his body against hers, making her gasp. With him, from the first time, from before that even, Martha had never been able to separate her desire for him from her love. She had never wanted anyone else in this way and she could never imagine it happening with another person. “Are we going, or wha-”

“Sofa…”

“Good plan.”

Tom took a half-step back and Martha turned to the door, pulling him behind her. He followed willingly. They had learned not to squander their chances and time might be of the essence. It usually was. Clothes were discarded with gay abandon en route (parental nudity not being particularly unusual for Audrey to stumble upon) and in no time they were a tangle of limbs in the living room. Tom paused as Martha lay back and looked at him hovering above her, her eyes glowing with love and desire. “God, I adore you, Martha East.”

“Good. because I feel pretty much the same about you, gorgeous.”

He took a nip at her mouth, tugging on her lower lip before releasing it. “Pretty much…?”

“Well, I like to keep my powder dry,” she rolled her hips and Tom’s eyes closed as lust rushed through him, “You know, just in case a sexy choreographer happens along or something.” He dropped his head then looked at her through his lashes. Martha grabbed his backside and squeezed. She stretched her neck to growl in his ear. “I’ll forgive you, but only if you can make me come before we’re interrupted. ”

Tom grinned wickedly. “How many times?”

It was getting dark outside when they began to stir from the sofa. Martha was unwilling, but she needed to put a bra on at least, or there would probably be a mess soon. Plus her back was sore. “I dunno, I fear our days of sofa loving might be numbered,” she grumbled as she sat up, stretching painfully.

“Poor old girl.” The comment had been quiet, but not quite quiet enough.

After delivering a swift elbow to the ribs, she leaned back and kissed him passionately. He gave her the old puppy-eyes and was rewarded with a glare, albeit a good-natured one. Martha adjusted her position to face him and took his hands in hers. “Now listen here, Tom. Like I was saying, we need to accept something, I think. Me as much as you, because fuck knows, I don’t have all the answers either. We both need to work at something. We love Audrey and Joe, of course we do, but we are people who need to be occupied at the things that make us who we are. Agreed?” Tom lifted her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “But let’s get one particular thing straight _right now_, OK? In the highly unlikely eventuality that I ever give up on us, there is one thing you can count on: YOU will be the first to know. OK?”

He nodded, looking up at her through his eyelashes again. “OK.”

She batted at him. “Stop that. And anyway, it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? I mean, where am I going to find someone else with your sexual skills?”

He shook his head sadly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So shallow…”

“And yet you’ve impregnated me. Twice.” 

It took a few days, but Tom did manage to rationalise it, to an extent at least: what had happened in the rehearsal room was a form of panic attack. The sight - and sound - of Martha, _his beloved Martha _responding in that way to someone else just cut straight to something very primitive in him. He had been feeling so unsettled and unsure of his role, their choices, his life at that moment that it set off a chain reaction. He had never thought of himself as a jealous person, but, he realised, he had never really been tested, not that he was being so now. That he could feel that way both surprised and shocked him.

Yes indeed, life with Martha was a continual process of discovery, in every way.


End file.
